


This Isn't The House We Built

by blackgoliath



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: F/M, M/M, character and other tags added as I go, spoilers for Haunting of Hill House and MDZS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-19 08:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackgoliath/pseuds/blackgoliath
Summary: Twenty years ago, the Jiang children - Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and their adopted brother Wei Ying - lost their father in what was deemed a suicide. This death has haunted them ever since, tearing them apart as each seek their own way to cope with what happened in the house where their father killed himself.





	1. Enter At Your Own Risk

**Author's Note:**

> so I realized the haunting of hill house would fit really well with the jiang family, oops. take note of the tags, and the fact that it's gonna be a rough ride.
> 
> also, updates might not be super regular as I deal with grad school and work, but I'll do my best!

**Present Day**

_ Sometimes, a house is more than a house. Sometimes, it is like a person; the paint is its skin, the beams and supports its bones, the rooms its many organs. Sometimes, a house has a heart, the deepest, most intimate part of it. This heart can be anything - a memory, a particular piece of furniture, even a person who lives there. The heart is the very core of someone, and for a house, that can be anything. _

_ Even a room. A room that seems just like any other, but its walls are red, and its door is locked. _

_ Or so you think. But sometimes, a house is tricky, and it knows how to change bits of itself to fit whatever you want the most. And that is how it traps you, feeds from you, consumes you. _

_ That was the Hill House. _

Jiang Yanli sits back, rubbing at her temples. She can feel a headache coming on, a dull throb just behind her eyes; she’s been staring at the computer screen too long, most likely. Her glasses slip down her nose as she rubs gentle circles into her own skin, eyes closed, willing the pain to go away so she can keep working.  
  
She’d taken her time, on the first book, back when she and A-Xuan lived in a tiny little downtown apartment. Now, she has publishers and editors breathing down her neck, giving her deadlines, _ this book needs to be finished by the end of the year, your readers are expecting it. _ She knows, rationally, that they can’t really hold her to that, that other authors have taken their time or even abandoned sequels in favor of moving on to something else, but. 

But with _ this _ book...she has a feeling. She needs to get it done, on time, or it won’t get done at all. And _ this _ book needs to be finished. 

She’s still sitting in the computer chair rubbing her temples when she hears a soft, “A-Li?” come from the doorway. Spinning around, she drops her hands and smiles up at her husband.  
  
“You can come in, I’m just taking a break.” She pushes herself up, stretching, as Jin Zixuan steps into her study. He’s always hesitant to come in here, as if his mere presence will ruin her ability to write. It’s a bit silly, but sweet, and she steps forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“The baby’s down for his nap,” Jin Zixuan says, glancing at the computer, the blinking cursor Jiang Yanli has left. “I just wanted to let you know that I made some sandwiches, if you were hungry.” 

As he mentions it, Jiang Yanli feels her stomach rumble, and she holds a hand over her mouth when she laughs. “I am, actually. Thank you.” 

The sandwiches, it turns out, are simple peanut butter and jelly, which is Jin Zixuan’s favorite meal to make. Though he insists on taking care of A-Ling while Jiang Yanli works, and he’s gotten pretty good with cleaning, cooking remains a foreign concept to him. Usually Jiang Yanli has to gently usher him out of the kitchen to make cooked food, or else they rely on microwavable meals, ramen, and sandwiches. _ One day, _ Jiang Yanli tells herself as she sits down at the dining room table to eat, _ I’ll teach him to properly cook. _

She’s thought this at least a thousand times since they moved into a bigger place, since they had enough money to buy better groceries. And she means to do it, really, just...things keep cropping up that get in the way. 

Like having a toddler, who starts wailing partway through lunch, and Jiang Yanli giggles at Jin Zixuan’s long-suffering groan.  
  
“He’ll grow out of it,” she promises, pushing away from the table and standing. Jin Zixuan frowns at her, his face clearly saying _ I doubt it. _

A-Ling, they find when they enter the nursery, has somehow rolled over in his sleep and gotten his chubby little fist caught between the bars of his crib. Jiang Yanli very pointedly doesn’t say that she’d told Jin Zixuan the bars were too close together when they bought the thing, instead working with her husband to free his hand while he wailed and sobbed. The screaming continues even after he’s free, and Jiang Yanli lifts him in her arms, soothingly rocking him and whispering that he’s alright, he’s going to be okay, as Jin Zixuan rubs his back. 

It takes a long time for A-Ling to calm down, and in that time, Jiang Yanli tells herself that she needs to say it, needs to voice the idea she’s had for the past few weeks ever since she had the idea for this book. When her son’s sobs finally calm into soft sniffles, his face buried in her neck, soaking her shirt and skin with snot and tears, she catches her husband’s gaze.  
  
“A-Xuan,” she whispers, “I want to go back to the house.” 

The change in Jin Zixuan’s face is immediate. Where before he had been soft, cooing over their child, checking A-Ling’s wrist for bruises, now he’s incredulous, almost offended. “You _ what? _”

“I want to go back to the house,” she repeats calmly. “It’s been a long time, and if I’m going to write this book I need to see it again.” 

“After everything you went through? After everything--no. Absolutely not.” 

“I don’t need your permission,” Jiang Yanli reminds, gently, but Jin Zixuan stiffens as if she’d snapped at him.

“I-I know.” He looks away, gritting his teeth. “I know you don’t, but….A-Li. That house is cursed. From the things you told me, from what it did to your _ father _...do you really think it’s safe to go back?” 

“I think I can handle it.” Jiang Yanli smiles, one arm looped beneath her son to keep him propped against her as he slowly falls back into his nap, the other hand reaching to cup Jin Zixuan’s cheek. “I understand that house now. I know what it does, how it works. I only want to go back to see what it’s like now, so I can put that in my book.”

“But why do you have to do it?” Jin Zixuan leans into her hand, even as he watches her with furrowed brows. “That house is dangerous. Do you really have to go back to remember that? Why not send one of your brothers, maybe Wei Wuxian, considering how much money we’ve sunk into hi--”

“_ A-Xuan. _” Now it’s a snap, and Jin Zixuan’s mouth closes so fast his teeth click. He has the sense to look guilty, too, gaze flicking away from hers, mouth curved down. It’s not quite a pout; he’s grown significantly in the past few years. 

“We talked about this,” she continues. “We’re helping him get better. He needs the time to recover, and we have the money to make that happen.” 

Jin Zixuan’s jaw tightens, and he looks like he’s about to argue, but. After a moment, he sighs. They have had this argument, many times over, and nothing he can say will ever change her mind. “I know. I’m just...worried. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I won’t.” She leans forward, presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I know this house, better than anyone. That’s why I need to go back. I want to see if it’s as powerful as it was when I was a child, so I can warn others against going there.”

This close, she can see how he hesitates, how he wants to keep protesting her idea. But he also knows her, better than anyone else, the same way she knows him, and so he knows that once she’s set her mind to something she’s going to do it. He knows, and she knows that the subtle slump of his shoulders, the soft release of breath, are him giving in. Him realizing that there’s nothing he can say that will keep her from doing this, because she’s already decided. 

“Just be careful,” is what he says instead of all of the things she knows he wants to tell her. She smiles, kisses him again, their son held between them. 

“I will.”

\---

It’s a long drive to the house from the airport, and Jiang Yanli spends her time listening to NPR and old radio shows she’s downloaded onto her phone. She has several podcasts downloaded too, but there’s something about the older shows, the atmosphere and mood those radio hosts from decades earlier could set up with just their voice and a few well-placed sound effects that she’s always loved. It makes the ride seem shorter, and before she knows it she’s pulling up in front of the rusted gate of Hill House. A gate held together with a bare chain looped through the bars. It doesn’t take her long to unwind it, and the fact that there isn’t even a padlock makes her wonder if the Lans still live nearby, still take care of the property even though it’s empty now. They would never have left this gate so carelessly easy to open. 

Still, it helps her, as she shoves the gates to the side, leaving enough room for her rental car to get through. She doesn’t like that the house is so easily accessible, but she also wouldn’t have a key for any padlock put on those chains, so. It’s with an odd mixture of relief and worry that she gets back into her car and drives up to the house itself, mist curling around it in the moonlight, the grass already beaded and shimmering with dew. 

_ Just an old house in the woods, _she thinks, as she turns off her car and walks up to the porch. It’s dark - her flight had been delayed, unfortunately, keeping her from coming here during the day - but the house doesn’t look like anything but a creaky old building. 

She knows it’s more than that, yet she also knows its tricks. She walks up the porch steps, shifting around the crack in the third one that A-Ying made when he jumped from the porch itself and landed hard on that step. She walks up to the front door, pushing it open - it’s unlocked, as she knew it would be. 

_ Wait, _ she thinks, as she steps through the open door. _ Why did it unlock itself for me. _

_ Wait. _

Her feet carry her further inside, the door creaking as it shuts behind her. A cold breeze, coming from the foyer, blows past her, ruffling her pant legs. It chills her to the bone. 

It’s summer outside, and the night is warm, without a breeze at all.

_ Wait. _

_ Something’s wrong. _

_ Something’s-- _

\--- 

“A-Li.” 

Jiang Yanli looked up from the pot she’d been bent over, seeing her father in the doorway to the kitchen. She smiled and beckoned him closer. 

“A-die,” she said, turning to face him, moving carefully on the stool she was using to reach the oven. Fifteen and she still hadn’t had her growth spurt, which meant little stools like this came in handy. “Are you hungry?”

“What are you making?” Jiang Fengmian stepped closer, leaning enough that he could look into the pot. “It smells very good.”

“Lotus root and pork rib soup,” Jiang Yanli chirped, smiling up at him. “Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng wanted some for lunch.”

“Shouldn’t you teach them to make it for themselves?” Jiang Fengmian teased, coming forward to drop a kiss onto her hair. She laughed, shaking her head.

“No, they said they like mine best.”

“That’s how they get you,” he said, leaning close and whispering as if sharing a secret. “So they don’t have to try it on their own.” 

He tickled her, then, and though she was fifteen, though she was practically an adult, she giggled and thrashed and yelled, “A-die, don’t, I’m cooking!” 

_ Jiang Yanli drifts through the house, smiling, eyes distant as she follows some unseen force. There is nothing around her but emptiness, spiderwebs and dust. Not a living soul in this place but her. _

_ Even so, something watches. _

“I made lunch,” Jiang Yanli announced as she carried the pot into the dining room, lavish and set for her whole family. She’d grown taller in the past twenty years, and so it wasn’t as difficult to lift the pot up onto the table, onto the center of it. Each place was already set with a bowl, each chair filled with someone she loved. 

Jiang Cheng - sitting near the end, his scowl twitching as he tried not to smile at the familiar smell.

Wei Ying - sitting across from him, looking healthy, the bags gone from beneath his eyes, the sweat and shakes and deathly paleness gone with them. He looked happy, beaming up and crying, “Jiejie, it smells so good!” 

Her mother, A-niang, at the head of the table, actually smiling at her brothers, both of them.

Her husband, seated with their son in his lap, gently bouncing A-Ling on his knee. 

And her father, her A-die, beaming at her as she put the pot down. 

_ She’s in the kitchen, the oven long cold, the refrigerator worthless. More dust and cobwebs. She picks up an old, empty, rusty pot from atop the counter and carries it into the dining room, the dining room that no longer has a table. She sets the pot on the floor, still smiling, looking at the blank space beside her. _

“He’s right,” Jiang Fengmian said, brushing his hand over Jiang Yanli’s hair. “It smells delicious.” 

“I made it special.” She winked at Wei Ying. “Extra spicy this time.” 

Jiang Cheng groaned, hunching forward in his chair, while Wei Ying lit up. Jiang Yanli watched her son make a wet huffing noise and bat at his uncle’s arm, distracting Jiang Cheng from his irritation with toddler gibberish that made that smile come out fully. She watched her husband, who had always been at odds with her brothers, lean forward so A-Cheng could get closer to A-Ling. 

She glowed with warmth. Her family, together and happy. It was everything she’d ever wanted--

\--_ she hugs empty air, standing alone in this room. Shadows shiver and separate and reform around her, but she sees none of them-- _

“I love you so much, A-Li.” Her father placed another kiss on her hair, pulling her into his arms as her family began to spoon stew into their bowls. Her mother looked up, caught Jiang Fengmian's eye, and smiled even wider. She loved him, Jiang Yanli could feel it. She loved him so much, and she loved her children. They both did, more than anything. More than life.

\--_ there’s someone with her now, a dark figure she turns toward, so happy to see them as if she’s never wanted anything more than this moment-- _

“You’re a very good daughter.” Jiang Fengmian brushed her hair behind her ear. “You’ve done so well for yourself. I only wish you hadn’t published those books.”

\--_ the figure is cold when it touches her, and she realizes it’s wrong, something’s wrong, the house, the house-- _

“But I forgive you.” He kissed her temple, this time. She felt an ache begin there, where his lips touched. “You’re so intelligent, A-Li. You can do better than this.”

He tapped her temple, a fingertip against her skin. “You’re meant for so much more,” he said.  
  
  


The pain is blinding, for an instant. Her eyes roll back in her head, her body jerking. She can’t move, can’t speak, can’t reach her phone to call her A-Xuan for help. It only takes an instant - something pops in her brain, and she crumples onto the dirty, dusty floor, her eyes open and staring at nothing.  
  
  


There’s a low groan as the house settles onto its foundation. All old houses make noises, every so often. If this one sounded like satisfaction, well - it was a trick of the imagination.


	2. No Such Thing As the Bogeyman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, odd things happened at the house on the hill. But that doesn't mean they were _real_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are! an actual update!
> 
> this chapter fought me a bit but hopefully as we go on it'll be smoother sailing from now on. also note that I am kinda making a tossed salad of things I'm using from hill house for the story lol

**Twenty years ago**

“You’re not going to win this time,” Jiang Cheng declared, before ducking back behind the wall he was using as cover. He knew Wei Ying was around here somewhere, waiting, ready to spring as soon as Jiang Cheng showed his face. It didn’t matter; Jiang Cheng was smarter, knew exactly how Wei Ying operated. He wouldn’t be surprised.  
  
Holding his nerf gun at the ready, the trigger pumped and the water tank full, he crept around the corner. The decrepit garden behind their mansion was empty; he didn’t see Wei Ying anywhere. Good. That meant he had the upper hand.  
  
One step, then two, then three. Jiang Cheng edged into the open, aiming for one of the big, wild-looking trees his father had said used to be trimmed. A-die kept saying he would get around to trimming the hedges and trees again before they sold the house, but in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, this was better. The flurry of branches provided good cover. As long as he could make it across the ten feet between his hiding spot and the tree, he’d be fine.  
  
He was about halfway there when a sudden burst of water soaked his left side, and Wei Ying popped up from behind a crumbled garden wall with a hoot of laughter. 

“I got you!” his brother crowed, nerf gun propped on the ragged edges of stone as he nearly doubled over with mirth. “Three to one! I win!”

“It’s best out of ten, asshole!” Jiang Cheng glared at his brother. “You didn’t win anything!” 

“A-di, didn’t I tell you? Swearing is bad.” Wei Ying beamed as if he wasn’t guilty of swearing the most out of the two of them. “Lan Zhan will be upset if you say things like that.”

“Lan Zhan _ again _? Seriously? I thought you were too old for this imaginary friend bullshit!” Jiang Cheng hefted his nerf gun, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t exist and neither do his rules.”

“He does! I’ll show you, really--!”

“Like hell you will.” Soaked and irritated, Jiang Cheng aimed his gun and squirted Wei Ying with water, soaking his entire front. “He’s not real, so get your head out of your ass! And that makes us three to two.” 

“You cheated! We weren’t even playing!” Wei Ying looked...hurt, for a second, before it was replaced with his usual grin. “That makes you a cheater cheater pumpkin eater.” 

“That’s not a real thing either!” Jiang Cheng shot Wei Ying with water again, who, despite the earlier onslaught, looked just as startled as the first time, spluttering and wiping his dripping face and hair. His bangs hung in his eyes, his clothing soaked through. Jiang Cheng felt (_ guilty bad mean _) proud of how he’d come out on top this time. 

He was ready to raise his gun one more time when a voice floated out toward them from the back porch. “A-Cheng, are you busy? I could use your help with something.” 

“Coming, Jiejie!” Smirking at Wei Ying, because they were absolutely, definitely tied right now, Jiang Cheng ran toward his sister’s voice. “I’ll be back later, and I’ll win, you’ll see!” he called over his shoulder. 

Wei Ying laughed, shaking himself to be rid of some of the wetness. It didn’t help a whole lot, his sodden shirt swinging around him. _ I need to change, _ he thought, twisting the ends of said shirt in his hands to wring out the excess water. When he looked up again, toward the woods that framed this house, he saw a boy standing there; a boy dressed entirely in white, long hair tied back in a neat bun. Wei Ying brightened immediately, hauling himself over the crumbled wall he’d been hiding behind to run closer. 

“Lan Zhan! I haven’t seen you in days, where did you go?” He stopped just short of hugging his friend, knowing how much the boy disliked it. “I missed you!” 

“Mm,” Lan Zhan said. In the dappled light of the trees he stood beneath, Lan Zhan certainly did look like a spectre.

“Do you want to come inside? Jiejie made sandwiches for lunch, you can have one.” 

Lan Zhan stared at Wei Ying, then slowly shook his head. Wei Ying wanted to ask why when he heard Jiejie’s voice calling him, saying that it was time to eat. He looked away for a moment to yell that he was coming, and when he looked back, Lan Zhan was gone. 

_ Are they right? Is he just in my imagination? _

Wei Ying shook his head, dispelling the doubt. Lan Zhan had to be real, and if he were honest, if Lan Zhan was a ghost like the ones Jiejie talked about sometimes, the ones she said were the figures Wei Ying saw in the halls, well. At least Lan Zhan was nice. Quiet and weird and a little too intense, but nice. 

Much better than the Tall Man. 

Wei Ying turned on his heel and ran back toward the house, hearing Jiejie calling for him again. He wouldn’t miss her meals for anything, not even the boy-maybe-ghost that was his only friend out here. 

\---

After lunch, when Jiejie was busy washing the dishes - stoutly refusing any offers from her brothers to do it for her - Wei Ying leaned over to whisper, “Let’s go try the red room again.” 

“No.” Jiang Cheng shifted on his seat. “There’s no point, and A-niang said it was dangerous.” 

“What’s dangerous about it? It’s just a room with a locked door. What are you afraid is gonna be behind it?” Wei Ying grinned, leaning closer and hunching his shoulders with his hands raised over his head, fingers wiggling as he added, “The bogeyman?” 

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng growled. “The bogeyman isn’t real.” 

“But wasn’t it you who ran into Jiejie’s room in the middle of the night, crying that the bogeyman was under your bed and trying to grab you--”

“I was _ six! _” 

“Are you two arguing again?” Both boys turned to see Jiang Yanli frowning at them with concern, washing one of the plates they’d used for lunch. Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks heat; he hadn’t realized he’d yelled. 

“No, Jiejie,” they said in unison. She watched them a moment longer, still frowning, before she looked away. 

“Okay. You can go back to playing, if you want; just stay away from the left corridor on the second floor, I think A-die mentioned he’s spraying for mold in one of the rooms.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay far away from there!” Wei Ying winked over at Jiang Cheng, who flushed darker; he knew what Wei Ying was getting at. The red room was on the other side of the house, so they would, literally, be far away from that second floor hallway. 

“So anyway,” Wei Ying continued as they walked out of the kitchen, “The red room. I think we can get it open this time; Jiang shushu found a skeleton key in a drawer, and said I could try it. If _ this _ doesn’t work, then I don’t think there’s anything that can get that door open.” 

“That’s stupid. A door has to have some way of opening, even if we don’t have the key.” Jiang Cheng hated the way Wei Ying’s eyes lit up, how his brother knew just by that that Jiang Cheng was in. “If the skeleton key doesn’t work, then it’s probably not a skeleton key. Besides, A-niang thinks that it might be closed up like it is because the floor is rotten or something, that’s why we’re not supposed to go near it. What if we go inside and it falls through and we break all our bones?” 

“We don’t have to _ go _ inside,” Wei Ying said, radiating mischief. “We can just open the door and see what’s in there. The hallway’s perfectly safe, right? No rotten floors?”

“Not as far as I know…” 

“So that settles it! We open the door and see what’s in there. I bet it’s something really valuable, like treasure.” 

“Why would someone put treasure in a run down old mansion?” They were walking up the grand staircase now, heading up from the main foyer toward the third floor. The boys had to weave around the different workers hired to help the Jiangs get the mansion fixed up so they could flip it. A-niang was big in the housing market business, often flipping several houses a year. Jiang Cheng never understood how it worked, but she’d told him that one day he’d be doing the same, just like her father had before her. 

Of course, he’d never tell her he thought that was stupid. Who cared about buying and fixing up old houses when you were just going to sell them right after it was done? 

The two ducked past two men hauling a cloth-covered mirror down the stairs, and Jiang Cheng glanced over at the other man on the landing who was fixing one of the grandfather clocks that sat in the halls throughout the mansion. The man nodded his head in greeting, scratching at his thick mustache before getting back to work; Jiang Cheng scowled and jerked his gaze away. He didn’t bother getting friendly with any of the people his parents hired, not the way Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli sometimes did. Just like this house, he’d never see any of them again after the place was renovated and sold. What was the point in making connections when they’d be gone so soon? 

Up another flight of stairs and then a right, following the hall around a few corners before finally, there it was at the very end: what looked like any other door in the mansion, old and wooden with an elaborately decorated handle, but unlike any other door it was painted entirely in a bright red. 

“Okay.” Wei Ying held up his so-called skeleton key; it was old and slightly rusted, large and metal. It certainly _ looked _ like a skeleton key, as far as Jiang Cheng knew anything about keys. “Let’s see if we can get it open this time.” 

They approached the door, Jiang Cheng falling a step or two back, his mother’s warning still ringing in his head. With Wei Ying, there was always a chance he’d end up in some kind of ridiculous trouble that he was supposed to talk the both of them out of; his mind was already running with possibilities to explain how and why he and Wei Ying would fall through the floor behind the door A-niang _ specifically _ said not to enter.  
  
“I sure hope it’s treasure,” Wei Ying muttered as he slipped the key into the keyhole. It fit; the boys exchanged glances, then looked back to the door. Wei Ying slowly turned the key as the two of them stared, the whole hallway silent, ears straining for any sign of tumblers unlocking. 

But then....nothing. 

“What the fuck!” Wei Ying turned the key again and again, tried the handle, even jiggled it. Nothing worked, and the door remained firmly locked. 

“I thought you said not to swear,” Jiang Cheng muttered half-heartedly. 

“Well, I think this calls for it! Jiang shushu said this should work, why didn’t it _ work? _”

“Because, you dummy, it’s not a skeleton key.” Jiang Cheng huffed, frustration and disappointment tangling inside him. He’d started getting his hopes up that maybe it _ would _ work this time, that even if it wasn’t something exciting they could finally see what was inside the room. Growling, he kicked at the bottom of the door, then froze. 

“Wei Ying....” 

“There’s gotta be another key somewhere in this stupid house, and I’m gonna find it!”

“Wei Ying--” 

“Stupid door. Maybe if we get a crowbar or something, I know Yu furen will be pissed that we broke the door but I gotta _ know _\--”

“_ Wei Ying! _”

“WHAT!” Wei Ying glared at his brother, who remained completely still, his eyes glued to the floor. Slowly, he pointed at what he’d spotted, what was still there. 

“There’s a shadow…” 

Jiang Cheng heard Wei Ying’s sharp intake of breath as he, too, saw it. Beneath the door was a dark shadow that moved like someone was walking behind it, someone right behind the door that they couldn’t open. Neither heard a sound coming from inside the room, but the shadow didn’t go away. It would move, then stop, then move again as they watched.  
  
As one, they slowly crouched to look at where the shadow pooled out from beneath the crack in the door. Wei Ying met Jiang Cheng’s eyes, then put a finger to his lips as he carefully bent even further, trying to look through the small gap between the door and the floor, to see what was there, _ who _ was there--

There was a sharp _ bang _ as something behind the door slammed into it, and both boys scrambled backward, Jiang Cheng even letting out a yelp. They lay on the floor, panting, watching the shadow but it...disappeared, after a moment. No more sounds came from within the room. Jiang Cheng was the first to pick himself up, grimacing as he did so. 

“See? What did I tell you. That room is dangerous.” He dusted himself off, ignoring the way Wei Ying stared at him. "There must be a broken window or something, and the wind blew in and hit the door---"

"Are you _ listening _ to yourself? We both saw that shadow!" Wei Ying scrambled to his feet. "There's someone _ in _ there, A-cheng! It has to be a gho--"

"There's no such thing!" Jiang Cheng turned, storming away, fists clenched at his sides to hide how they shook. _ There's no such thing. A-niang said so. You can't be afraid of what isn't real-- _

\---

**Present day**

Jiang Cheng stares down at the body of his sister. She doesn't look peaceful like this, laid out on a cold metal table; whoever said the dead look peaceful is an idiot. They just look dead. Jiang Cheng should know, considering he's just finished embalming her. 

He looks at the picture he's holding again - it's from Jiejie's wedding, back when she married that moronic Jin Zixuan. He's never understood her choice, but he remembers helping her with her makeup, that day. Just like he does now, glancing at the photo for reference before adding the last touches of rouge to her cheeks. He steps back, checking his work. Now...now, maybe, she looks peaceful. 

"A-cheng," a soft voice calls from the door, and Jiang Cheng turns to see Lan Xichen standing there. He doesn't miss the flash of concern in Xichen's eyes. A scowl pulls at his lips. 

"What?"

"I've made dinner." Xichen doesn't look at the body - he never does, when he comes down here. "If you're hungry."

"I'll be there in a few. Gotta clean up."

He turns away, setting the makeup down and beginning to pull off his gloves. He hears Xichen's footsteps as he heads back upstairs. It's still a little weird, having Xichen around, but...it's nice, sometimes, to have food waiting for him after a long day. 

And today has been very, very long. 

Jiang Cheng turns off the lights, ready to remove the plastic covering he wears for this, when he hears a rustling behind him. He turns, scowling again, wondering if that rat problem has resurfaced--

There's another body in the room, on the second table, the table that was empty a minute ago. As Jiang Cheng watches, frozen in place, it slowly sits up and looks at him. 

The face of his father smiles, looking just as he did back then, back before everything happened. 

"We miss you," Jiang Fengmian whispers. "Come with us."

Jiang Cheng rushes to the light switch and flicks it on, and--there's nothing there. Just Jiejie, sewn up and silent and ready for the clothes he'll put her in tomorrow. Jiang Cheng takes a few deep breaths, hand pressed to his chest, his heart racing. 

"Just a product of stress," he mutters to himself, turning the light off again and leaving the room. This time, he closes the door and doesn't look back, forces himself not to think of what he just saw. Because you can't be afraid of what isn't real.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/shangqinghuas) if you wanna yell about mxtx novels and hill house
> 
> also: I'm helping host the mxtx ladies twitter event in september, so feel free to find us at [@mxtx_ladiesweek](https://twitter.com/mxtx_ladiesweek)!


End file.
